


When I Can Let You Love Me

by ChaoticEther



Category: RWBY
Genre: Background Ruby/Ilia, Background Schneekos, F/F, Happy Ending tho, Idk what genre it comes under but expect angst, Mentions of past relationship abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticEther/pseuds/ChaoticEther
Summary: Blake kisses Yang. She kisses her because she has no idea how to say it, or that she even could if she knew. Just... Stay here, like this. It’s all she wants. Yang to be here, close to her, breathing her in, locking away her demons where they can’t reach her. Losing herself in a lilac sea under a golden sunset as opposed to one of midnight black and crimson skies. Yang pulls away, an easy smile resting where it always has before pulling her back into an embrace. I’m not going anywhere, where else would I have to go? There’s a certainty to the admission, a finality. No one else could give her what Blake does.





	When I Can Let You Love Me

Blake kisses Yang. She kisses her because she has no idea how to say it, or that she even could if she knew. _Just... Stay here, like this_. It’s all she wants. Yang to be here, close to her, breathing her in, locking away her demons where they can’t reach her. Losing herself in a lilac sea under a golden sunset as opposed to one of midnight black and crimson skies. Yang pulls away, an easy smile resting where it always has before pulling her back into an embrace. _I’m not going anywhere, where else would I have to go?_ There’s a certainty to the admission, a finality. No one else could give her what Blake does.

“Thank you.” No sweeping declarations, no extraneous feelings tugging at her heart. Yang is whatever Blake needs her to be. Sometimes, it’s a friend; others, more than that. little moments where she lets her in, opens the cage around her heart and allows it to beat freely between them. It’s not love, and at the same time it’s not all skin deep. Blake looks at her a certain way and nothing else can infringe on her vision. Speaks a few words like they should really be “I love you,” and Yang echoes the sentiment right back at her. There’s _something_ between them, but she isn’t ready to admit it, to let it happen. To let Yang love her. Not after last time. She’s an art major, but even when she thinks she’s captured Yang in every possible way, she notices something new; a detail screaming at her to be committed to memory just like the rest, filed away for later use. Right now, she’s only just noticing the way Yang’s eyes reflect the moonlight streaming into the bedroom, sounds from the party on the other side of the door becoming white noise compared to their voices.

“Happy birthday, Blake” She whispers, hand reaching around the back of her head and pulling her closer.

Pyrrha’s the one to interrupt the moment, a drunk Weiss wrapped around her waist and slurring something about being pretty into her ear. She rolls her eyes; after all, Weiss being glued to her happens at every party, as does the sight on the bed.

“I’m taking her home,” Pyrrha whispers, and Yang shakes her head to wring out a dry laugh. Blake’s leaning into the crook of her neck, breathing even and peaceful, practically immobilising her on threat of waking the faunus.

“You’re all free to stay the night,” Yang replies, just as quiet. Something tells her the redhead standing in the cracked doorway is secretly a fan of their friend being like this. At least, judging by the smile that she allows to flare up before pulling the door closed again. Alcohol has this funny effect sometimes; it bores holes through self-imposed walls, just enough for others to peek through. But this time, this time it might not be all the cocktails talking. A wall cracks, buckling under a fist made of Yang’s smile against her head. Blake thinks, _I don’t know what I have, but I know I can’t lose it._ The notion is accompanied by her huddling even closer against Yang, who relaxes into an implied sleeping position for the night.

Thankfully, the day after is a Saturday, and no one has any pressing matters to attend to, save for Ruby, who gracefully extricates herself from Ilia’s arms and finds Blake in the kitchen cradling a cup of tea. Seeing the faunus like this, ears perking slightly as she acknowledges the company, the younger sister understands why Yang’s so mad about her; it’s 8AM and there’s an ethereal beauty sitting at the coffee table. Somehow, she belongs there, always has, always will.

“Sleep well?” Ruby jokes, trying to ignore the racket in her head.

“Better than you, apparently. You look like _shit_.” Blake grins at her own lack of filter before continuing, “It’s Yang, you know.” She looks to Ruby, quizzical expression making her realise she needs to elaborate, “My final year project. It’s just… Yang.” Like there’s no better words to describe it. Like it’s always _been_ Yang. And yet the realisation was only just now hitting home.

“That’s not a bad thing, Blake. She’s like, your best friend,” a shock of red and black jumps onto the stool beside her, hot cocoa in hand with a liberal helping of marshmallows. _Oh, she’s so much more than that,_ Blake thinks of adding, but leaves it in her throat and opts for a glance towards the massive clear wallet containing all her work.

The first is a smattering of yellows, oranges and greens, the colour of Yang’s hair radiating out past the partly-defined lines it was supposed to be contained within, spilling over into its surroundings just like the subject’s presence. Sunset lighting softens the colour gradients, save for the bright purple just turning to look out of the piece, delicately placed above a small, contented smile. Grass covers the ground, mixing and melting into the bases of trees spanning the entire horizon. But, as always, the subject stands out as if projecting their own light; Yang.

“Yeah,” Blake finally adds, “she is.” Ruby doesn’t press further, knows there’s a lot that goes unsaid between them. Knows that when push comes to shove, they’d do anything for each other. In a way it’s almost terrifying. She sees the looks they share sometimes; the implied words a whisper when they should be shouted as loud as possible, wonders if Blake can ever find it in herself to put the feelings into words, if she’ll grab onto Yang one day and never let go. Questions for another time, she decides, checking her scroll and realising she’ll be late for work if she waxes poetic to herself much longer.

Their second kiss happens because this time, it’s Yang who doesn’t know what to say. _I’m whatever you need, and you need this, so take it. Take my skin, bones, heart if you must._ Yang swears her tongue moves like it wants to form those words in Blake’s mouth. Maybe it does.

It’s only when she opens the door that she realises anything is amiss; after all, Blake’s texts hardly change based on her feelings. She looks so… tiny. Defeated, in some sense. Maybe it’s the lack of ever-present boots that let her height rival Yang’s, hands buried in the sleeves of a sweater that’s a few sizes too big. They’re both sobbing in seconds, and neither of them is entirely sure why. Their hearts are speaking in lieu of their mouths, trying to touch through layers of skin and bone and make everything feel okay again.

“I…H-he…” Blake manages, and Yang understands immediately. _Him._ She’s never asked for a name, a description, anything. Doesn’t need it to hold her as she cries, panicked. It’s not fear, never fear. It’s the urge to run, to leave everything so no one gets hurt again, such a strong desire to protect those she cares about that the emotional toll comes second.

“It’s okay.” Yang murmurs against her ear, and she almost believes it. “Ruby, Weiss, Pyrrha, we’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t-” the end of the sentence is lost between Yang’s lips, unable to offer much more with language alone. Blake pulls closer, as though trying to capture the fleeting sense of safety and take it with her.

“Then don’t,” the blonde replies, and it sounds like an admission of feelings, letting their foreheads touch. _Don’t love me if it makes you want to leave._ Pulses don’t race, blood doesn’t sit uncomfortably under skin; it’s normal for them, the only normal that matters.

“I’d miss you.”

“Good. I’d miss you too.”

Neptune almost makes fun of Blake for it, had it not been for the swift kicks under the table from both Ilia _and_ Sun. He’s Sun’s boyfriend, and a fairly recent addition to the group, so neither can really fault him for almost treading on the landmine.

“Blake’s last partner had an… Unhealthy obsession with her.” Ilia explains, solemnly.

“You were there, right? At her high school?” Sun adds, mostly to confirm what he already knows.

“Yeah. She’d turn up to class with bruises, say she was just clumsy. That he’d never done anything she didn’t deserve.”

“And you, like, saved her, or something?” Neptune interrupts, curiosity piqued.

“Blake saved herself. Got as far away from him as she could. I’m only here because she stopped me falling into the same crowd.” The chameleon faunus wipes away tears, briefly shifting blue as her emotions start to overflow.

“She doesn’t feel that way about me.” Yang adds, pulling a chair out and joining them in the ensuing awkward silence. _And I can’t stop myself feeling that way about her even if she wants it,_ is what begs to be aired, but she holds it back behind her tongue, “I’m six months away from an engineering degree, at least give me _some_ credit.” She bites, perhaps a little harsher than intended. Honestly, she thinks they’re all going about it the wrong way. _Of course,_ the feelings are mutual, but Blake can’t let them be. There’s too much scar tissue from last time. Too much blame placed squarely on herself for things she’s not responsible for.

“Going on about your fancy science degree again?” Sun sighs, with Yang shooting a look to thank him for breaking the icy atmosphere.

“At least mine’s useful, unlike History!”

“Oh, we’re having _this_ debate again!?” He shoots back, pouting in faux-anger as everyone else joins in with the discussion. Yang leans back in her chair, crossing her legs over and closing her eyes. Even like this, Blake still fills her vision. It’s practically unfair, to have what they do; it’s easy, without much compromise.

Blake’s professor slides her portfolio back across the desk, genuinely impressed for what might as well be the first time she and Weiss have ever seen. _Inspired,_ the teacher breathes out, trying not to distract the students that are still working. The topmost piece is still one of Yang, but with her back turned, would-be golden hair cascading down to her hips. At least, she knew who it was, any and all smooth lines that would define her figure are rough and jagged, dragged out into straight lines and sharp corners. Devoid of any actual colour, shaded in pencil lead and black paint. A side of her few people get to see, dark and vulnerable, more like Blake herself than the happier, caring blonde girl everyone else knew. Weiss harrumphed, gingerly placing her own work down on the desk and accepting she wouldn’t be able to beat _that_ reaction.

“Do you have a name for your presentation yet?” she inquired, confident expression combining with crossed arms as the expected response came,

“Little Light Dragon.” Blake said, grinning more to herself than anyone else. “Though I suppose you’d already worked out something like that.”

“I had. But it’s nice to hear you say it, Belladonna.” Sincerity is a strange fit for Weiss, but not an altogether bad one.

They go out again the week after. Something about meeting Blake’s parents to repair her relationship with them. Not, as she had been forced to reiterate to Neptune and Sun several times, a date. That didn’t mean Yang wasn’t allowed to get slightly dressed up, however, especially given the upmarket restaurant she’d been informed they were going to. She fixed the collar of her blazer once again, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a punk band t-shirt underneath, half-tucked into a pair of black jeans with the look completed by burgundy Doc Martens. Blake instinctively links arms with her, flared purple knee-length dress brushing against her side as she taps her shoulder to point out the raven-haired couple sitting in a booth near the corner. Judging by the excited waves, Yang wonders if there’s really all that much to fix. It’s a very restrained affair, owing in no small part to the pair’s best efforts to be amicable. Their hands interlace under the table, thumb rubbing gently over the back of Blake’s palm, and she begins to wonder if this really isn’t a date.

“It’s good to see you again, Blake, and this is-?” Ghira’s scroll vibrates on the tabletop, earning an audible grunt as he picks it up. “I am sorry, work was supposedly _not_ following me here,” the large man chuckles, leaving the three ladies alone as he takes the call.

“Mum, this is Yang. She’s…” the pause is a little too long, Yang feels the grip loosen and release around her hand, “a friend.” Even now the description sounds hollow, like it lacks the depth they share.

“Nice to meet you, Yang. I’m Kali. I trust our daughter’s not giving you too much trouble?” As expected, Kali is incredibly polite, like a practiced diplomat. Whether she believes Blake is still up in the air, however.

“Oh, she’s being _plenty_ of trouble, Mrs Belladonna.” Yang jokes, letting her brow furrow before relaxing into a grin and a laugh. “Has she told you how we met? That story has trouble written all over it.” She ignores the dig into her side, knowing Blake doesn’t really mind. At least, she doesn’t mind the way Yang tells it. Ghira returns, pleasantly introducing himself before placing his elbows on the table, prepared to be enrapt by the blonde’s story.

“Hey, are you a font? Because you’re-”

“My type.” Blake finishes, not even looking up from her sketchbook as Yang’s shadow creeps over it. She’s holding a sheet with both of their names and faces on, apparently having been designated as roommates for the first year. The blonde hoists their suitcases over her shoulders, a feat that actually causes Blake’s mouth to drop open a little. She thinks of jumping into her arms and being carried to their room along with the cases, but also thinks slightly better of trusting a total stranger. That first awestruck look is what makes Yang start falling, and fast. Golden eyes widening slightly and ears perking even under the beanie in genuine wonderment, sneaking looks at the way her muscles flex under the strain. Despite their different sensibilities, the room winds up looking perfect; chaos and control in a delicate balance as framed photos and posters go up. She considers pushing Blake onto the bed, straddling and kissing her. But a voice in her head screams that she shouldn’t, that her new roommate isn’t the type, despite being _her_ type. The voice was right. It’s another couple of weeks before she finds out why, finds her homesick and listening to PVRIS on repeat.

“You, uh, wanna grab a drink or something?” She asks, though the only indication Blake’s listening is one ear turning in her direction. “Not like, alcohol or anything. A coffee. Tell me about yourself and shit.”

“You’re not the best at comforting people, are you?” Blake mumbles into a pillow, but her tone is slightly amused.

“Well, then you can teach me how. Deal? Come on, I’ll be at the main doorway getting stood up if you don’t come.” And she does, grabbing an olive-green jacket off her bed and shoving her hands in the pockets as she walks downstairs to wait. A raven-haired figure slowly sauntering out of the doorway beside her prompts a victorious glance and an arm around her shoulders, leading the way.

Yang thinks better of finishing the story how she knows it ends. Realising just how beautiful Blake is under the yellowed lights of the coffee shop, deciding then and there that no one else could possibly be better. Sectioning off a part of her memory specifically for the times Blake bends the bars around her heart, grabs her hand like she never wants to let go, wants to weave their fates together should such a thing prove possible. Strangely, the decision rings true; she still goes on dates with other girls, but the bar is set ridiculously high: Are they Blake? Funnily enough, the answer is almost always no.

“And-?” Blake lets slip, drawn into the retelling as much as her parents; catches herself a little too late and shoots back upright, wraps her hands tightly around both knees.

“Great, all that hard work and now your parents probably think I made it up. I didn’t.” Yang offers a reassuring smile, matched only in stature by Ghira’s. _We’ve been together ever since_. It feels like such a natural addition to the flow of events, and almost what Blake was prompting her to say. The meal itself continues in relative silence, everyone too consumed by the flavours to think of much else. Blake’s father speaks up once again, deciding Kali has asked enough questions of her own,

“So, Yang. Are you seeing anyone?” He catches his daughter’s blush, only affirming his own suspicions as she looks to her friend for the answer.

“I…” She faulters, but isn’t quite sure why. It’s not a hard question. “I was.” The news comes as a shock, even to the girl she supposedly shares everything with. “Nora Valkyrie. She was fun, and that’s what I needed at the time.” Yang leaves out the reason they broke up. _It’s Blake, you’re crazy about her,_ she said, _just like me with Ren, we’re temporarily filling holes in our hearts._ And how she nodded in defeat at the deduction. Blake grabs her wrist, rougher than she did at the start of the night, giving a rushed goodbye to her parents and dragging Yang outside.

This is their third kiss. Against one of the windows at the front of the restaurant, surrounded by people they’ll never see again. It’s different, hot, allowing pressure to build behind it. Like Blake slipped, let herself love Yang for far too long. The latter’s hands rest gently around the former’s wrists, pulling them away from flushed cheeks as they separate. _We’re made for each other, what went wrong?_ Yang’s palm wraps around the back of her head, pulls her close enough to focus on a heartbeat. Steady, melodic, even.

“I didn’t-wasn’t-” she sighs, knowing fumbling with words won’t make things better, opts to let her pulse do the talking. _We’re made for each other, that’s what’s wrong._ The sentiment echoes in her ribcage like it may as well be empty.

“Thanks, Yang. For tonight.” Blake decides moving on is easier than waiting for words she can’t bear hearing just yet. “I’ll see you after class tomorrow.”

Turns out, seeing Yang again was an excuse to ask for an opinion other than Weiss’s on a submission piece for their final year. It’s unlike the rest, cooler colours and at the same time even more intense than usual. A figure is still the centrepiece, yet it hardly looks human, twisted and bent at unnatural angles to fill crevices between lines and broken glass. If one could somehow paint using raw emotion, the result would probably be something akin to the painting set before them. Eyes darting about the canvas, searching for some solace, a familiarity the other works so easily captured. There isn’t any. Conflicted, tortured, brutalised in a way only Blake could truly understand and express, _because it’s me,_ she’d go on to tell her classmate later. Although she may as well have said it out loud to Yang; the blonde’s features soften as the realisation hits, blinking away a few tears and fixating on the signature in the bottom right corner, a shot of red amidst the mess of blues, blacks and greys. She swears it’s as if her initials are mixed in as well.

Ilia fidgets with the zipper on her jacket nervously, watches different shades of orange creep up her arms while she waits for Ruby’s class to end. Somehow this all felt like a ploy to get them to spend more time together, even if it was just to kill time before they all went out to celebrate her birthday later. She starts a little when a manuscript with an A+ is dumped onto her outstretched arms, looking up to see the birthday girl beaming back.

“I know you’re supposed to give me gifts today, but… I got it back!” Ah yes, Ruby’s most recent project. A report on how something has changed over time; she chose Ilia as the subject, documenting how much the chameleon faunus had come out of her shell over their time together.

“Y-you wrote it on me?” she gasps, taken aback by the idea,

“Of course I did. Now, where’s my present?” Straight to the point; at least the freshman is honest about it. Her friend pauses, flushing a shade of pink no one had seen before, save for Blake. Hesitant, nervous, maybe; but poignant. Ruby brings a hand to her cheek, tries to trace the imprint left by Ilia’s lips against them, feels the blood flowing right below it, watches the colours in front of her return to normal. Fights the urge to mirror the action as everyone files out from behind.

At least, that’s how they’ve decided to tell it, hands linked on the table across from Yang and Blake. Everyone else has gone home for the holidays; Pyrrha’s got the pleasure of meeting Weiss’s family, Sun and Neptune have escaped to somewhere where it’s summer at this time of year, leaving the Rose-Xiao Long sisters with two guests. Ilia doesn’t have any relatives to speak of, and Blake’s insisted she spend Christmas wherever she’s most comfortable. Sitting beside the one person she valued most seemed as good a place as any to enjoy the festivities. There’s a blizzard outside, but it’s just the right time of day for the snow-laden clouds to tint everything a trademark winter orange, making it so much easier for Yang to get lost in Blake’s golden irises every time they share a knowing glance. Like it should be them telling the story of how they got together, and not their closest friends. In this light, for an albeit brief moment, they’re sitting in that coffee shop again and Yang is realising she loves her. Letting the world turn without her, committing every inch of Blake to memory. The sensation overwhelms the blonde, only realises her mind’s going too far once everyone else is wondering why her eyes have the faintest hint of red in them, why she’s looking at Blake like there’s nothing else worth seeing.

“Yang?” Ilia’s voice shatters the illusion, clock hands start moving again, and Yang’s heart drops a few beats in the confusion.

“Sorry, got lost in my head for a second.” She steps away from the situation entirely and out onto the balcony, still only in a tank top and jeans.

Yang leans against the railing, unfazed, almost untouched by the snow; it practically melts around her save for the few crystals clinging to her boots, hanging in her hair as it falls down over the other side. _Blake, of all people,_ she muses, resigned to her fate yet again despite her inaction. Being near her was enough, is still enough, but her heart can’t take just _enough_ for much longer. It needs Blake’s hands around it, keeping it going, reassuring her. _She_ needs Blake’s lips on hers, not because words can’t be said but to repeat them, to never stop repeating them.

“I know that look.” The chameleon faunus adds, gently closing the door and shivering against the cold. It’s a lot warmer than this in Menagerie.

“I love her.” She tacks on a single laugh, mocking herself for even owning up to the thought. The tear that falls doesn’t even feel like it belongs to her; neither do the quiet sobs, building in volume before Ilia traps them against her coat in a hug that betrays her stature.

“I did too, a long time ago.” It’s a revelation that’s not particularly surprising, but one she felt had to be aired, “She never looked at me _once_ the way she looks at you. I think that means _something._ ” Yang nods into her shoulder, still sniffling, though it’s a marked improvement. Perhaps this is all she needed, reassurance that she wasn’t tilting at windmills, had decided on the wrong girl after three years. Decided is the wrong word, the attraction is gravitational, universe-spanning in magnitude; not something a decision could sway.

“Let’s get back inside. God knows what dirt Blake’s spilling on me to my girlfriend.” Her mouth angles into a smile at the word, one that Yang returns, looking slightly renewed.

“Really? You’re _that_ concerned about us?” Blake complains, placing a hand on her hip in mock annoyance.

“I _know_ you suck with the cold. And so does Ilia. I’m not letting my best friends freeze to death walking two blocks home, now, am I?” Yang’s definitely more excited than a few hours prior, tossing some sheets and pillows at them from a closet in the hallway. “If you need anything to sleep in, I’m sure your girlfriend will have a few oversized shirts to steal,” she winks, catching Ruby’s face changing colour to match her red t-shirt. “And Blake. My old high school hoodie?”

“Your old high school hoodie.” She repeats, opening the door to the blonde’s bedroom and heading for the wardrobe. Her gaze lingers on the framed photograph of them taken a few weeks after they met, and she’s smiling in it, for probably the first time since Adam. That’s what Yang is to her; a smile, snatched out of the darkness that falls over the rest of her life. A smile that can break any storm, fight any monsters. Given the chance, she might actually do those things. _Oh,_ Blake wishes, _how I’d do that for her._

4AM. If the clock on the wall is to be believed at a distant look, anyway. The sky is still tinted pink, reflecting streetlights that are just barely warming up through the windows and into the living room. It’s almost like being bathed in light from Yang’s eyes, if the colour were to ever flare up at her most caring. Part of her likes the danger they imply, something boiling below the surface before pouring out from the only point of release. The other part enjoys being able to upend the change with a word, a look, or, should she be so inclined, cause such a shift. The threatening tint gets carried with her to Yang’s bedroom door, turning the handle like it belongs to her. It might. 4AM, when facades drop and masks shatter. 4AM, and Blake’s in love with her. _I need her,_ she admits, climbing into bed and gently rousing the sleeping Yang, hair splayed across the pillow being tucked behind as she rolls over, wraps an arm around her partner’s waist and pulls her close, sighs into her hair as sleep overcomes the both of them again. The space is empty when the blonde wakes again, and she finds a note that reads:  
_Good luck with your project. I might not be around so much for a bit, got some stuff that absolutely needs finishing. I’ll miss you._  
-Blake.  
Yang’s chest heaves, the weight of the words hitting harder with each passing second. Ruby’s arms find their way around her, head resting on her back.

“Good. I’ll miss you too.” She whispers on an exhale, eyes fluttering closed, searching for those irises like sunsets.

Blake’s felt this exact same thing before. Lying on the floor of the studio, one leg bent to rest a foot on the floor. Homesick and listening to Mitski. Quite how Yang ended up as “home,” she doesn’t understand, but it happened. An ache she’s been trying to ignore this whole time, only responding to texts with few words in a vain attempt to focus. Watching the works deteriorate into self-destructive messes, trying to depict longing only to find sadness. Weiss told her it wouldn’t be easy, that separation only breeds desperation. _If only I’d listened,_ she thought, staring at an idyllic landscape, picking out the deliberately distant figure. Everything had Yang in it. Even self-portraits were framed by blonde bangs, as if from her perspective, trying to imagine how someone like that would even see a girl like Blake and think she was worth _anything_. The futility of it all was wearing her down, half-eaten takeout food strewn across the entire room wherever she stopped feeling like eating. Whenever she thought of Yang. Groaning in frustration, she lifts up off the ground, grabs a black trench coat to throw over her tank top and shorts and heads out. To the one person she knows can fix her.

Yang throws herself into work as a distraction, fires off the occasional update just in case Blake wants to talk. Agonising over every little detail of her designs made her realise their careers might not be so different after all; Yang wants to work in prosthetics, build pieces of technology that might actually _help_ , some day. It’s preferable to building abominations of war for Atlas any day of the week. The knock at the door makes her jump a little, Ruby takes her keys every day, after all. Throwing a flannel shirt over pyjamas, she hardly expects it to be anyone she should dress up for. It’s when she sees the tell-tale beanie and coat that she freezes. Blake. The bolt comes free, and the door swings open slowly, unaided on either side, letting tension build before their eyes meet. All the willpower in the world couldn’t have stopped Yang hugging her in that very moment, breath catching until she feels Blake in her arms.

“You said-”

“I’ve said a lot of things. ‘I’ve missed you’ wasn’t one of them. Until now.” The faunus interrupts, on the brink of tears herself, “if you’re interested, I’d like to take you for a drink. Coffee. I’m homesick.” _Was, homesick_ , she mentally corrects, feeling her pulse in her wrists and cheeks.

“Sure! Let me just get my coat and some proper pants,” Olive green. A coincidence, but not an unwelcome one. Ripped jeans will have to do, pulling out her scroll to get directions to the coffee shop from three years ago.

This time, it’s Blake looking at Yang differently in the yellowed lights. Or rather, letting herself see Yang differently. She really is beautiful, lilac eyes standing out even more than usual in the setting, smile peeking out from the corners of the coffee mug. Thinks of kissing her then and there, letting it say the words she means like it did so many times before. Making up for the time they’d lost because of Adam’s lingering effects. Kissing her like it’s the first time instead of the fourth. Kissing Yang and meaning it.

“Yang?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m ready. To let you love me.” Blake lets the words hang, knowing what she’s admitting to by saying them. There might be days where she can’t, where Adam still holds too strong a grip for it. But today, this is what she wants. Yang chokes back tears, manages an understanding nod and grabs her hands.

“Blake Belladonna. I will _never_ stop loving you.” _Never stopped,_ Yang thinks.

Blake kisses Yang. She kisses her because words alone can’t say “I love you” enough. It’s their fourth, but it feels like a first. Blake’s in an open black shirt and jeans, light blue t-shirt underneath, hands wrapped around the collar of Yang’s leather jacket, pulling and wrinkling the band shirt underneath and using boots to even out their height. The lights are like they were lifted straight out of the place they went on their first date, surrounded by every single piece of art Blake’s done.

“It’s all you.” She says; and it bears repeating, whenever possible. “It’s always _been_ you.” Yang brushes their lips together again, speaks almost directly against her mouth,

“I _love_ it when you get poetic.” Whispered only for her to hear.

_We’re made for each other. When I can let you love me._


End file.
